There is nowhere more magical than Central Park in the snow. Not just a little dusting of it, I’m talking about when the snow is inches thick, and the park suddenly goes quiet, with only a few people scattered around the white fields and pathways.
When Central Park is like this, the city and whole world feels miles away, and it really is like you’re walking through the pages of a storybook. You can only hear your own footsteps padding through the snow, your own breath, your own heartbeat. If there were a definition of winter, for me, this is it.
